


a life through fragments

by scullysaliens (cophinecloning)



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Sappho - Freeform, sappy gays, serena is a massive gay for bernie wolfe, this is absurdly sappy: you have been warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cophinecloning/pseuds/scullysaliens
Summary: Inspired by fragments of poetry by Sappho -- standalone vignettes of life with Bernie and Serena -- some of these might be AUs!





	1. [ fragment 34 ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “stars around the beautiful moon / hide back their luminous form / whenever all full she shines / on the earth / silvery”
> 
> \-- [tr. anne carson – ‘if not, winter’]

Claire de Lune (Debussy) / Arabesque No. 1 (Debussy) / The Sleeping Beauty – Pas d’action: Rose Adagio (Tchaikovsky) / Carnival of the Animals: le Cygne (Saint-Saens) / Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Op. 98: 2. Adante Moderato (Brahms)

* * *

 

Serena had always liked the small hours of the morning. There was something about the liminal state between midnight and early dawn that enchanted her. Save for the few cars passing by on the street and the occasional wuthering of wind through the trees, everything is still and tranquil. On nights such as this, it’s difficult to imagine anything is less than perfect.

Serena lies there quietly; bed-sheets loosely draped over her, hears a soft moan escape from Bernie as she turns over in her sleep and settles to face Serena. Bernie had been dozing for some time, and eventually fell into a deep sleep, all the while Serena rubbing soothing patterns on her temples, the bridge of her nose, along her cheekbones. The moonlight spilling in through the window onto Bernie’s features transfixes Serena – and in spite of the fact that Serena needs to be up early in the morning, she can’t bring herself to feel any amount of contempt for her lack of sleep if it means she gets this view.

In this moment, Serena’s world has shrunk – Bernie _is_ her entire world. So she lies there; lies and silently wonders at the unequivocal beauty of the woman lying next to her. In her eyes there is no one as strikingly prepossessing as Bernie.

Serena has lost count of the number of times she has marveled at the freckles peppering the bridge of Bernie’s nose and over her cheekbones. Like constellations, elegantly adorning the sky, they speckle Bernie’s face with a kind of sublime resplendence. She thinks, in fact, Bernie is almost like the moon herself. It waxes and it wanes, but in the end it keeps its reliable course and is always there. Bernie is Serena’s constant -- and she meditates on the fact that she’s the woman lucky enough to see the delicate and serene sleeping Bernie in her very own bed.

It’s inconceivable, Serena thinks, just how many years she just didn’t realise her attraction to women. It was obvious to her younger self, _of course_ , that everyone felt like that with girls. _Right?_ And liking someone’s outfit is purely aesthetic attraction, surely? _And everyone liked holding girls’ hands?_ She and Bernie had laughed together when they discussed it for the first time over a glass of wine -- that they’d both, at one point, assumed they were straight. And over the years they’d wondered. They’d wondered that maybe if they’d met maybe thirty years earlier, what life might have held in store for them then. Naturally, they’d have got on like a house on fire. But what might they have discovered in their teens as opposed to the other side of the millennium? Serena puzzled over the fact that it took _Bernie Wolfe_ , of all people, _acting on feelings_ to pull her out of the fog of attraction and to start flirting with actual intention.

On occasion, years ago now, her and Bernie had used the moon as a way of feeling more connected when they happened to be away from each other. The feeling that wherever they were in the world, the distance was made smaller just knowing they were looking at the same moon. It had reminded Serena of when she was much younger, when she’d look out of the window of the car and think that the moon was following her home. And, _well_ , she’d never tell Bernie that when she had really missed her while she was away, she’d talk to the moon as if it were Bernie listening to her. (Although, in truth, Bernie would be endlessly charmed by it and never fail to use it to tease her.)

Bernie sniffles slightly in her sleep, and Serena is grounded back in the present moment again. She finally understands the intense passion and emotion in music and art, the seemingly infinite amount of poetry written for and addressed to lovers.

Out of all of the things being shone on by the moon, Serena thinks -- bloody well _feels_ it in her heart and _knows_ \-- that Bernie is the most beautiful of all of them. Not even the way it reflects on waves coming into shore, or drapes through leaves onto beds of flowers, could even come close to this view. Bernie’s natural radiance is astounding, but the milky glow of the moon flatters her yet more. The way the light falls on her makes her seem as if she’s been carved from marble, with all the care and attention of an expert sculptor to every detail. The lines on her face shaped by age and war seem like filigree in the pale light. It swims in her hair and Bernie takes it wherever she goes in the sparkle of her eyes and the corner of her mouth when she smiles. 

Serena had never paid much attention to the concept of ‘old souls’ or reincarnation, but something about their situation felt like they’d done this before in another time. Call it fate, or destiny, or kismet; they’d been here already. After all… it’s the same moon that looked down on them both when they were children, when ancient wars were won, when language was born.

And in that moment, Serena believes whole-heartedly that language was made for the specific purpose of expressing the outpouring of love she’s feeling for Bernie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came across the poem ‘The Moth and the Butterfly’ by Suzy Kassem while I was writing this, and it kind of stuck with me.
> 
> I'm also trying to find a way of publishing some playlists to go with the fics (but alas not with my personal spotify account) bc some of the later ones are actually going to include music in them - if anyone knows how to then hmu
> 
> (PSA: if you want to yell about something or have any fragment requests I'm @scullysaliens on tumblr too - and yes I'm going to get round to changing my url at some point)


	2. [ fragment 31 ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “… your sweet speaking / and lovely laughing —oh it / puts the heart in my chest on wings / for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking is left in me ”
> 
> \-- [tr. anne carson – ‘if not, winter’]

You’re the First, the Last, My Everything (Barry White) / You To Me are Everything (The Real Thing) / Let the Music Play (Barry White) / So You Win Again (Hot Chocolate) / Steal Away (Robbie Dupree) / Easy (The Commodores) / Endless Love (Lionel Richie & Diana Ross) / After the Love Has Gone (Earth, Wind & Fire) / I Wanna Be Your Lover (Prince)

* * *

“Did you get that new washing up liquid the other day?” Serena says to the Bernie, who has her head stuck in the fridge, “this one’s not exactly doing a great job of the lasagna.”

Serena is standing at the sink donning some rather gaudy washing up gloves, bubbles adorning her hair, and swiped up the side of her face. In spite of the lackluster effort at actually cleaning anything, the soap had also managed to create a mountain of suds that seemed to be slowly taking over the kitchen.

“Erm, Serena…” Bernie says, “you’ve, erm, got… some…” She motions to her head, as if to direct Serena to her own dishevelment.

“Oh, not again, for goodness sake.” Serena snaps off her gloves, wipes her face and smoothens out her hair as much as she can. “There _was_ some cream left in there, wasn’t there?” she says, pointing to the refrigerator.

Bernie shoots a glance to Serena. She’d rather demolished a punnet of strawberries the day before, with not much care to how much of the cream she’d been taking.

Music drifts lazily around the house from the radio sat on the dining table, set to a late-night seventies R&B programme. Serena’s house had always seemed cozy to Bernie. The multitudes of throw cushions aside, little touches of Serena’s personality that peppered the rooms made the house seem snug and warm. Of course, it was Bernie’s house too now -- she lived there and had done for quite a while. Excluding the lack of having to pay the mortgage (Edward had paid that off years before as a result of the divorce), Bernie would say that her paying half of the water, gas and electricity bills would beg to differ.

They’d got this bit of living together down quickly; pottering around and doing chores together, slipping into a calm simpatico – the easiness of it all evident in their work together from the start. Habits and schedules intertwined, they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

Bernie, having attempted to make the lasagna for their dinner, was somewhat distracted by the fact that Serena had chosen to whisper newly learnt Italian phrases in her ear all evening. Apart from being a tactic in seduction, it was probably also a ploy to make Serena’s dessert seem even better than it already was in comparison.

“Auntie Serena!” Jason suddenly pipes up from the living room, having apparently found a suitable place to pause University Challenge. “Are the cakes finished yet? It’s been twenty minutes since you’d said they’d be done soon.”

“Yes Jason, I’m just about to get them out of the oven now.”

Serena, impulsively deciding to abandon the washing up for the rest of the evening, reaches for a tea towel and pulls out three chocolate fondant cakes from the oven. Suddenly thinking of another question, Jason calls out again from down the hall.

“Have you got ice cream too?”

“Yes, Jason. We’ve got ice cream too. That Cornish one you like.”

A smile starts to creep across Serena’s face: her small, if slightly unorthodox, family unit is perfect for her and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Bernie gets some glasses from a cupboard and roots around for a bottle of Shiraz. Grasping at an empty space, she turns her head and remembers they’d taken it upstairs earlier in the evening.

“Serena?”

“Hmm?” she mumbles, all of her attention focused on not breaking the cakes open at the last moment accidentally.

“Just popping upstairs. We left that bottle up there – going to go fetch it quickly. I’ll be back in a second. 

“Alright, dear.” Serena says, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. 

* * * 

Bernie fetches the wine down, and on the stairs pauses momentarily to watch Jason in the living room. He’s sat there, the spitting image of Serena when she’s focused on a patient’s file facing a particularly testing surgery – eyebrows furrowed, eyes faintly closing and slightly pursed lips.

“Do you know the answer to this, Auntie Serena?” He proceeds to repeat verbatim. “‘Icterus is the medical name for which condition, caused by an excess of the bile pigment bilirubin in the blood?’”

She hears Serena call back down the hall, still in the kitchen.

“Well seeing as I’m a medical consultant I’d be a tad concerned if I didn’t, Jason. It’s… it’s…” 

“Jaundice!” Bernie announces, still on the stairs. 

“Oh, I see!” Serena retorts, “as well as medical knowledge, I’m also gifted with the skill of ventriloquism! Who knew?!”

Bernie can hear the smile in her voice, and likewise then smiles at the thought. She makes her way down the hallway, but stops just short of the door back into the kitchen. In the position she’s stood, she can see Serena, but Serena can’t see her -- and doesn’t realise she’s even there. Amidst the thrum of the dishwasher and the boiler, she can hear Serena’s gorgeous voice cutting through the noise as she sings along to the radio.

_“My first… my last… my everything…”_

Bernie was surprised the first time she’d heard Serena sing. A rich soprano tone, occasionally tinged by vibrato -- she’d always thought it frankly ridiculous that Serena had never been classically trained.

_“And the answer to all my dreams… You’re my sun… my moon… my guiding star… my kind of wonderful, that’s what you are…”_

Bernie’s stood stock-still. Although it’s something so commonplace, just seeing Serena laugh and talk and sing makes her heart swell. She’s never had this level of comfortable, lazy normality with anyone, let alone one she loves so much. She hears Serena talk every day; of course she does -- sometimes too much. When she’s kissing Bernie awake and whispering sweet nothings about the fact they have to be in work in three-quarters of an hour, when they’re singing along to songs on the radio on the way in, when she’s barking out orders to junior doctors on the ward, when she’s replying to the nurses and the porters, when she’s asking her what she wants for dinner. It really is nothing extraordinary, but at the same time, it is. It’s lovely and it’s endearing, and it’s _her_ Serena.

This level of love! So moving and breathtaking that even words escape her.

Eventually, Serena turns around and catches the slightest glimpse of Bernie leaning on the doorframe taking in the view. There’s a glimmer in her eye that Bernie’s seen countless times before, the glimmer that tells her all matter of secret thoughts shared with only a look. 

Bernie puts down the bottle of wine and slowly takes hold of Serena’s waist, both slightly swaying to the music.

“You know, Campbell, it never fails to amaze me how easy it is for you to make me speechless. You’re… fantastic, and so, so fearless in everything you do, and it – it makes you radiant, Serena.”

Serena presses a soft kiss to her cheek, then drops her head to Bernie’s shoulder laughing.

“Hmm, even that time I managed to get covered by engine oil from head to toe?” 

“Yes, even that time.” She nudges Serena slightly, prompting her to look back up. It’s ironic that a love so strong should make her so weak at the knees.

“You know, you’re very distracting. If you’d noticed me any sooner you might have caught me speechless.” 

Serena quirks an eyebrow. “Not the first time I’ve rendered you incoherent though, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if the last one read as a tad purple prose ! still getting into the swing of writing and it didn’t have any dialogue in it so sorry if it read as overly descriptive. also idk what the layout of serena’s house is so I’m just going with what I’ve had in my head for the past few months for this chapter. sorry for how long it’s taken to update (life got in the way, when doesn't it). and yes, I did look up medical questions that have been on university challenge
> 
> (I feel like this chapter jumps all over the place, if anyone has any pointers about that they'd be gratefully received!!)


End file.
